


I'll See You in My Dreams

by SingingMom1716



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Self-Sacrifice, Ultimate Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5506556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingMom1716/pseuds/SingingMom1716
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair couldn't save the love of his life.  He's spent ten years struggling to make up for that failure.  Now, he has a chance to save the world as he knows it - so how could he say no?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired by a pair of songs: "Brothers In Arms", as performed by Northern Kings, and "I'll See you in my Dreams", by Giant. It's my first attempt at a multi-chapter work - hopefully I can translate what I see in my head when I hear these songs into the proper words.

“Saari!”

Alistair awoke with a jolt, sweat streaming over his body as he sat up in his bedroll, panting and gasping. A couple slow, deep breaths, then a couple more, and his heart rate slowed, the panic ebbing, leaving behind tears of frustration and heartbreak as old memories washed over him like a tidal wave.

Ten years had passed since the Battle of Denerim, where Saari Mahariel slew the Archdemon Urthemiel, taking the corrupted Old God's life at the cost of her own. By the time Alistair raced from the gates she had ordered him to defend to the top of Fort Drakon's tower, Saari was gone, her skin already cooling under his desperate fingers as he gathered her limp form to his chest. He rocked them back and forth, keening into her blood-soaked hair, until Wynne all but dragged him away from the tower, the senior mage's sympathy alternately comforting and infuriating him.

Alistair did not attend Saari's lavish funeral, knowing how much she would have detested the ceremony. She was Dalish, proud and fierce, and she deserved better than a cold stone in Weisshaupt. Once the service was over, and everyone involved was gone, Alistair crept to the bier cradling the love of his life, fresh tears falling on her folded hands as he said his final goodbyes. After an eternity held in a moment, Alistair stood, glancing around to be sure no one had returned, taking two trinkets before slipping into the deepening shadows – Saari's old longbow, and a beaded necklace she once told him belonged to her father. Securing a horse for himself, the last Grey Warden in Fereldan rode off into the night.

His first stop was the Brecillian Forest. Urging his horse forward despite the beast's nervousness, Alistair rode deep into the ancient pines and oaks, memories of Saari's stories guiding his path until he came to the place he sought – a secluded clearing, with a little spring bubbling in its center. Alistair dismounted, winding the reins around a low-slung branch to keep the horse from running off, and half-walked, half-stumbled to the edge of the spring. He knelt on the mossy ground, a blush tinging his ears as he remembered the last time they were in this place. Saari had been bathing in the warm water, he had been watching her, and after she caught him... 

Alistair's breath hitched in his throat, tears he thought spent once again coursing down his cheeks. With trembling hands, he took Saari's bow off of his back, and laid it gently in the pool, watching through a haze of sorrow as it floated and drifted in the bubbling foam.

“I know this isn't a tree, my love, but it's the best I could come up with.” He took a shuddering breath, his voice hoarse and thick as he howled to the shadows. “It should have been me – why didn't you let it be me?? I swore I'd always be there, I'd always protect you – and I failed you!” Sobs racked his frame, bowing his head over his clasped hands, clenched so tightly his knuckles flashed white. “Ir abelas, ma vhenan, my love – I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

By the time Alistair came back to himself, the moon was high in the sky, dappling silver over the water. He stood, staggering under the weight of locked knees and a broken heart. Slowly, he wound Sarri's necklace around one of the enarmes of his shield, so when he gripped it, the carved wooden beads would be under his fingers, a constant reminder of his wild Dalish rogue. Once his final task was complete, he slung his shield over his shoulder, pulled the reins of his horse free of their confining branch, swung into the saddle, and rode into as great of an oblivion as a Grey Warden can.


	2. Something wicked this way comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair learns more than he wanted to know, making him a marked man.

“Saari!”

Alistair sat stark upright, his heart pounding wildly. His dreams, while not what one would call comforting since Saari's death, were more intense and terrifying than he ever remembered them being, even during the worst of the Blight. Fumbling outside his bedroll, his fingers clutched the nearby lantern, and it wasn't long before its light reminded Alistair he was in a cave, a former raider hideout he claimed for his own weeks ago. Resting his forehead on his bent knees, Alistair clung to what sweetness he could remember, faint whispers from long ago twining with recent memories of how he came to be huddled in a desolate cave outside Crestwood.

Remaining as anonymous as possible, Alistair traveled across Ferelden, wiping out pockets of darkspawn wherever he encountered them – usually finding the foul creatures through rumors he overheard in various inns and taverns. Even at his lowest points, where he felt he could no longer carry on without Saari at his side, his training took over, the darkspawn falling like wheat during the harvest. Every time he slammed a genlock into the ground, her necklace bit into the leather of his gauntlet, forcing him to stay grounded and focused, and not recklessly throw his life away. Alistair refused any payment for his deeds, not even a roof over his head for a night, preferring his bedroll and small campfire to being around people for any length of time.

It was on one such journey several months ago that he crossed paths with the elusive Champion of Kirkwall, Rosalinde Hawke. Truth be told, Alistair rescued her from a pack of darkspawn that entrenched itself on the Storm Coast. Though Rosalinde tried to downplay the danger she had been in, the tremor in her fingers as she sheathed her daggers revealed how much she still feared the tainted, blighted creatures.

That night, the Warden and Champion shared a fire and an almost-edible meal, after which she revealed she was not on the Storm Coast by chance. Alistair listened to Rosalinde's tale of the madness that overtook her adopted home - madness that not only consumed Kirkwall's Knight-Commander, but one of her own companions, someone she trusted with both her life and her heart. She told him of the strange darkspawn she found imprisoned in the Vinmark Mountains, one that not only spoke, but used magic stronger than any emissary she had ever seen. She told him of the strange red lyrium Meredith made into a sword, how its influence made many of the surviving templars extremely paranoid, to the point she was forced to flee Kirkwall, leaving titles like Viscountess and Champion in her abandoned estate. Alistair did not pry into Rosalinde's closeness with Anders, seeing the pain in her eyes he knew was mirrored in his own, the heartbreak of losing the love of one's life. The one statement she said about him stayed with Alistair, even after the fire burned low and Rosalinde drowsed in her bedroll:

“He murdered dozens of people to make a point. I couldn't let that go.”

When morning came, Rosalinde and Alistair went their separate ways. He promised he would see what he could find out about the red lyrium, and they made arrangements to meet again along the Storm Coast in two weeks, giving Alistair enough time to establish contact with the Orlesian Wardens, and Rosalinde enough time to gather information from her own network of contacts.

In less than a week, Alistair fled Orlais, the wardens who once rejoiced at his return now out for his blood. He learned little more about the strange red lyrium, but he discovered all of the Wardens in Orlais were hearing the dreaded Calling. And when he questioned the sanity of using a sketchy blood magic ritual to end the Blights once and for all before they all perished, his own order turned on him in a fury. Fortunately, Alistair was well-accustomed to life on the run, and he eluded his pursuers, finally going to ground in a smuggler's cave – after clearing out the former occupants.

It was here that Rosalinde found him a few days after they were supposed to meet on the Coast. When he asked how she found him so easily, all Rosalinde offered in answer was a shrug and a crooked grin that sharply reminded him of the way Saari smiled when she was particularly pleased. Swiftly regaining control of the emotions that threatened to overtake him, Alistair conferred with the Champion, telling her of his experiences with the Wardens in Orlais, and how he was targeted for asking questions they did not want to answer. Rosalinde was quiet for a moment, finally withdrawing a folded note from her pack. It was from another of her old companions, one who was now caught up in the whirlwind of change originating in Haven – a destroyed Conclave, a glowing green hole in the sky, and a darkspawn claiming to be one of the magisters that stormed the Golden City. 

Rosalinde believed that what happened in Haven had to be connected somehow to what happened to Alistair in Orlais. Since Alistair could not come up with any other theories, he agreed with the Champion, and together they came up with a plan of action. While she traveled to the Inquisition's stronghold in the Frostbacks, he would remain hidden, and she would bring their leader to him. When he asked what he knew of the Inquisitor, Rosalinde only shrugged, muttering something about a mage and a mark. With that, she headed west, leaving Alistair alone with his thoughts by day, his dreams by night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This proved harder to put together than I thought, but this piece finally works. At least one more chapter to go.


	3. Sweet Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before the Inquisition marches on Adamant, Alistair is plagued with dreams of his lost love. Before the army leaves, hopefully he helps someone else see the light of possibility.

“Saari – no – don't GO!”

Alistair's strangled cry echoed around the small room, the contained sound confusing him for a long moment, until his senses returned to him. Sitting up in the bed gracing one of Skyhold's many guestrooms, Alistair buried his face in his hands, hot tears trickling between his fingers. Duncan told him long ago the Calling meant dreams, but Alistair was positive Duncan never had dreams like he was – dreams of Saari in his arms, the scent of honeysuckle surrounding them, the taste of sunshine and green on his lips, so close he could feel her lingering touch even after awakening. The whispers of the Calling just outside his hearing were bad enough, but constant dreams of the love of his life, each one more real than the last – Alistair now understood why the Calling filled the Grey Wardens with such dread.

Groaning, Alistair lay back down, staring up at the recently-repaired ceiling. The past two days at Skyhold had been a welcome break in his usual routine, and a chance to reconnect with an old friend. His first night in the ancient fortress, Leliana embraced him tightly, old emotions bright in her eyes. Together, they drank a bottle of elderberry blossom wine, until their laughter of the old days turned into tears, and the Inquisition's spymaster fell asleep on her desk, her glass landing on the floor with a dull thunk. Alistair watched his old companion sleep for a time, finally draping a blanket over her shoulders before leaving the rookery.

Earlier on this night, Alistair accepted an invitation from the Inquisition's Commander for supper and strategy planning, The last time the two men saw each other, Cullen was locked in a force cage, suffering the effects of the horrific torture inflicted on him by Uldred. Thus, Alistair was pleasantly surprised by Cullen's acceptance of the mages under his command, especially since Rosalinde expressed concern the Commander might not be the ideal choice to lead such allies.

The longer they talked, the more Alistair was genuinely impressed with Cullen. Very few men could survive what Cullen survived, and most of those who could have lived would have been broken beyond repair. Yet Cullen not only survived, he thrived in the role of Commander, his tactical acumen a match for any general of Ferelden, Orlais – anywhere in Thedas, truly. Once Cullen apprised Alistair on the plan for the morning, and once Alistair offered his suggestions on improvements to said plan, the two warriors relaxed in Skyhold's garden, snifters of Antivan brandy in hand, a chessboard between them, their conversation flowing as if they had always been friends.

Near the end of their game, the Inquisitor, Lady Selene Trevelyan, wandered into the garden, greeting them with all the warmth and kindness Alistair had come to expect from the Lady Herald. Though they had only spoken a few times since his arrival from Crestwood, Alistair understood why she held the mantle of Inquisitor. Everyone, from her advisers to her traveling companions to those who fled to the protection of her banner, all seemed to love her – affection he had not seen since Saari led their motley band against the Blight a decade ago. Alistair watched as Selene and Cullen exchanged pleasantries, and after he assured her the march on Adamant would begin at dawn, she took her leave of the garden, with rosy cheeks and a stammered good night.

Noting Cullen's cheeks were also shading towards crimson as he watched Selene until the heavy door to the main hall closed behind her, Alistair cleared his throat, and offered one piece of advice to the stunned Commander before retiring for the evening himself.

“If you care for our Inquisitor half as much as I think you do, tell her. Don't waste another minute, because you don't know how much time you have left with her.”

The lantern sputtered in a cold draft, the sudden influx of dancing shadows snapping Alistair back into the moment. Knowing any further attempt at rest would be useless, Alistair crawled out of the best bed he'd had in years, lit a lantern, and started preparations for the grueling day ahead. When dawn broke, the Inquisition's forces would being marching to Adamant, with Alistair and Rosalinde riding ahead of the army. After tugging on his breeches and tunic, he carefully donned his armor, the Warden blue and silver morphing to sickly reds and purples in the lamplight. His sword belt secure on his hips, Alistair checked his shield, taking a moment to apply oil to the beads still wrapped around the enarme. Some of the animal shapes were now chipped, a couple broken completely and lost, but enough remained whole, reminding Alistair of what he lost all those years ago. With a last caress of gauntleted fingers over the beads, Alistair slung the shield onto his back, and strode from the guest room. If he was to scout ahead of an army leaving at dawn, he had no time to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words can be nasty things, but I think they finally came together in a way that matches what was in my head. Main musical inspiration for this chapter is "Sweet Dreams", by Air Supply.


	4. The End, and The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair joins in the Siege of Adamant, which ends in a way he could never have foreseen.

“COME OOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNN THEN!”

Alistair bashed his sword against his shield, bellowing with all his might, keeping the monstrous beast focused on him. When a giant leg came crashing down, he slashed at it, the beast shrieking in pain even as ichor exploded all over Alistair's face and chest. His eyes burned, his throat burned, but Alistair did not slow his attacks. He had to keep the path clear, so the others could escape this Nightmare. As he thrust and parried, spun and stabbed, the movements so deeply ingrained in his muscles, Alistair took a moment to reflect on how he came to be hacking at a spider demon the size of a mountain.

The siege of Adamant was brutal and short, the Grey Wardens more accustomed to dealing with pockets of darkspawn, not determined men wielding well-calibrated trebuchets. While Rosalinde danced along the battlements, shredding any enemy who dared to engage her, Alistair guarded the Inquisitor's back, working in tandem with Blackwall to batter demons and Wardens alike into the void. Varric's crossbow bolts peppered the battlefield with deadly accuracy, exploding those frozen solid by Solas.

Selene proved difficult to guard, as she had a nasty habit of running headlong into combat, her spirit blade raised high, engaging a Pride Demon before the warriors could turn its focus away from her. Alistair shook his head at Selene, though he was impressed by her pluck – and by Blackwall's constant shielding of the reckless mage Inquisitor. 

Reuniting with Rosalinde once they reached the battlements, Selene led the way to Warden-Commander Clarel – and the yawning rift opened by the sneering magister at her side. Shadows and flickers hinted at a massive demon on the other side – one larger than the pride demons easily dispatched by the Inquisitor and her team. Selene desperately pleaded with the Wardens, urging them to alter their course, her words echoed by Blackwall. As Clarel's intent wavered, the Magister Erimond showed his true colors, summoning the terrible archdemon-dragon to the fray, even as the Warden-Commander launched her formidable magic against magister and dragon alike.

Selene raced after Clarel, Alistair hot on her heels, as was the rest of her team, finally catching the furious Warden-Commander as she launched bolt after bolt of lightning at the now-cowering magister who deceived her. Selene, Alistair, Rosalinde – everyone held their collective breaths as Clarel raised her staff, readying a spell to finish Magister Erimond – only to gasp in collective horror when the dragon swooped in, snapping her up in its massive jaws. A couple of shakes, and it spit Clarel onto the stone bridge spanning the Abyssal Rift.

Snarling, the blighted dragon turned its focus onto Selene, advancing on her like it was a cat stalking a mouse. Blackwall raised his shield, leaning forward in case the beast launched an attack. But before the dragon or the Inquisitor or anyone could react, Clarel, with her dying breath and the blood pouring from her wounds, cast one final spell, shattering the stone bridge beneath her. Shrieking, the dragon plunged into the abyss, as Selene and her party ran for their very lives. Alistair slipped, almost to his doom, but was caught by the deft grip of the Inquisitor. But even as they raced to the other side, everyone knew the effort was futile – the bridge was in pieces, and they all were falling now, until a green flash swallowed the entire party, winking into darkness.

After a disorienting landing, Alistair realized the green flash was Selene opening a rift of her own, directly into the Fade. He groaned, remembering his last experience in the realm of dreams. Demons took the form of his sister, making her seem kind and pleasant, tricking him utterly until Saari appeared and dispelled the illusion. Rosalinde seemed equally off-put, muttering about how the Fade was different the last time she landed in it. Of Selene's companions, only Solas expressed enthusiasm for their change in locale – Varric gripped his crossbow with a grim determination, while Blackwall circled around to guard Selene, gripping his sword so tightly his knuckles flashed white.

As they moved towards the place in the Fade that matched where the magister opened the original rift, they were met by someone, or something, appearing to be the late Divine Justinia V. She offered guidance, telling Selene they were in the domain of a powerful nighmare, and the only way they could escape was if Selene recovered the memories leeched from her when she first walked physically in the Fade. Of course, that meant fighting demons – but they were no match for the Inquisitor.

The first set of memories Selene recovered sparked an argument between Alistair and Rosalinde, for it was revealed that the Divine was captured and held by Grey Warden mages, acting as servants of Corypheus. While Alistair defended his order, Rosalinde spat back that this was proof the Wardens were corrupted. They nearly came to blows, until Selene's cooler head reminded them they had far more pressing issues – namely escaping from the Fade and stopping the demon horde Corypheus already amassed.

As they fought through the Fade, the Nightmare taunted them. It called Selene a silly little girl. It mocked Blackwall for being nothing like a Grey Warden. It spoke to Solas in a language Alistair didn't understand. It taunted Varric for bringing Hawke into danger – again. It sneered at Rosalinde for the loss of her family and her lover. And when it addressed Alistair, it took the easy route, reminding him that he left every challenge in his life to others – a failing with which Alistair had long since come to terms. With a bitter bite in his voice, Alistair fired back at the unseen demon:

“Is that all you've got? I've heard worse than that from Morrigan.”

Together, they battled through more minions, more demons, until Selene recovered all of her lost memories, knowing at last that it was the Divine who saved her from the Fade months ago, and not Andraste. Rosalinde again rounded on Alistair, blaming the Wardens for the Divine's death – their battle of words growing so heated Selene thrust herself between them, little prickles of lightning arcing between her fingers in her annoyance. Their goal was in sight, all they had to do was reach the swirling green rift before anything else attacked them.

They barely took two steps before their way was blocked by a strange, insectoid demon and a spider obviously spawned of nightmares. Alistair crossed smaller mountains than the massive beast, yet he readied his sword and shield, preparing to fight for the freedom they all desperately sought. The Divine's spirit made their initial task easier, using her energy to disrupt the gargantuan spider, leaving them with what had to be the Nightmare itself to face. That proved to be the greatest challenge any of them had ever faced, trying to land blows on an opponent that blinked around the battlefield, summoning minions in its wake. By the time the Nightmare went down, all of them were spent and panting. Varric and Solas each nursed healing potions, staunching their bleeding wounds. Blackwall's armor sported deep gouges and dents, as did Alistair's. Rosalinde favored her left leg, and a huge bruise blossomed across Selene's right eye.

As one, they all raced towards the rift once more. Varric, Solas, and Blackwall made it, but before Selene, Rosalinde, and Alistair could join them, the massive spider re-materialized, a vicious hulking mass of hate and malice that blocked their path, cutting off their escape. As they flailed about, trying to duck and weave around the beast, Alistair realized there was only one way out, even as Rosalinde offered to cover their escape. Shaking his head, Alistair drew his sword, staring down the champion with a hardened gleam in his eye.

“No. It's my turn to save the world.”

After a tense moment, both the Inquisitor and Champion knew he would not be swayed. With a final look back, Selene and Rosalinde made a beeline for the rift, while Alistair bellowed at the beast, holding its attention while they escaped from the Fade.

A sharp jarring pain snapped Alistair back into the present. The mountainous spider chose that moment to slam a giant leg into his shield arm, dislocating his shoulder. Staggered, Alistair hacked and slashed at the beast, refusing to give up until the green glow of the rift disappeared. But as he felt the venomous breath of the spider, as he prepared to meet the Maker at last, Alistair heard a whistling thud, then a screech from the spider-demon as it scuttled backwards. Another thud, and another – foreign, yet familiar to his ears.

Fingers ran up his badly-injured arm, trailing warmth in their wake. Over the stench of sweat, blood, and ichor, Alistair caught the scent of honeysuckle, sunshine, and green. His heart lurched in his chest, barely able to take a breath. He felt a hand helping him to stand, guiding him away from the Nightmare. Slowly, Alistair looked behind him, right into the shining face of Saari Mahariel – her old bow in her one hand, the other still resting on his shield arm. She looked just as she did before the Battle of Denerim, and when she stepped in close, brushing her lips against his, Alistair felt the pain of the past decade slip away from him. The demon no longer mattered, the nightmare no longer mattered – nothing else existed but the two of them, together at long last.

With a smile, Saari twined her arm in his, and together they walked away from where the rift had been. After a long moment, or perhaps it was an eternity, Alistair finally spoke.

“Where are we going, my love?”

Saari kissed him again, with a knowing smile.

“To the Maker, and beyond.”

And that was all the words they needed, as they became one – body, mind, and spirit, never to be separated again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished it at last - thank you all for your kudos and kind words. :)


End file.
